Memories of a Life
by luckychicken
Summary: Draco remembers his life especially the times involving Harry Potter. H/D not epilogue compliant.


disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

**Memories of a Life**

The image of a lonely little blond boy came into focus. He sat on the edge of the swan fountain in the gardens it was summer time and a warm breeze ruffled the little boy's hair, the flowers were all in glorious bloom and the white peacocks roamed elegantly around in many was representing the owners of the large manor house and its vast gardens. But there was definitely one thing the little boy felt there was a difference between himself and the beautiful peacocks he watched and that was as he heard the white birds in front of him call to one another and he wished not for the first that he could have a friend to play with. Yes he was bought many toys and Mother read to him every single night and Father spent many afternoons with him but neither were the same age as him and were often very busy. But then his name was called from within the manor and he carefully hoped down from his seat and ran to find the form of his Father with another toy for him and his loneliness was forgotten as at least he didn't have to share all his toys with other children. He took the toy snitch in his hand and let it fly away before chasing after it with a large grin on his face.

That vision faded away and another came to light. The same blond boy had grown and was now about seven years of age. He stood facing his Father.

"I have been thinking lately and I have decided that you are now old enough to have a real broom for yourself, my son." His Father then pulled the arm that had been behind his back and brought into view of the boy a broomstick, of the latest model as well, although it was of a miniature size it was still a true model, one that had been advertised a lot recently and only those of a wealthy sum of money would own. The boys face lit up.

"That's for me, Father?" he questioned, disbelief reverberating off of him in tidal waves.

"That is what I said, was it not?" his Father had always had a rather quick temper and did not like to be questioned.

"Yes Father, thank you." His Father held out the broomstick for the boy to take. Who took it in his grasp as if it were made of diamonds and was the most precious item to ever have been given into his care.

"If you would like Draco I can spare some time now to fly around the gardens with you, only the once I must add."

Draco looked up to his Father just as astonished at the line that had left the man's mouth as the surprise gift of the broom. His Father had been tremendously busy with his work recently and had hardly spared any time for his only child. The boy did not know what he had done to please his father but whatever it was he wished he could carry on just so that he could spend more of his time with the man facing him, the man he aspired to be like.

Trying to contain his glee; his Father did not like his Heir to be behaving like a three year old anymore, the boy replied, "I would love that, thank you Father." He was seven; he must act appropriately and accordingly and speak the same.

"Very well, we shall go now." And his Father took long, commanding strides towards the nearest exit of the manor.

Draco hurriedly followed his Father although could not keep up with him without breaking into a run and one must not run inside the manor.

The sun beat down upon the two making them look almost ethereal with the way the sun glinted off of their blond hair. They flew low to the ground just skimming above the perfectly cut, emerald grass. Even as this was the boy's first time on a true broom, he had had several toy brooms, which had a heavily built in safety system and great restrictions on height and speed, both man and boy flew elegantly. The boy's Father flew with the same graceful power as when he was on land, as if there was nothing who could order him to do anything, as if he owned the world. To the boy there was no one who was more perfect than his Father.

As they flew around the gardens the boy couldn't help but feel a thrill run through him, he felt there was no limits, he was free and it felt exhilarating to be flying at this speed even if they were travelling at a fairly leisurely pace. As the wind whistled through his usually perfect hair he felt as if no one could catch him. He had been so lost in the amazing feelings that he had not realised they were coming to the end of the tour by flight of the gardens and his heart dropped slightly at the realisation.

The boy's Father landed perfectly, swiftly and easily changing to be upon his feet again. The boy landed slightly less effectively but still managed to control himself quickly enough facing his Father.

"That was good flying for a first time, son. You could quite easily do well on a Quidditch Pitch. I hope that you are the star player when it comes to your time of starting school, make me proud Son." And with that his Father left, striding away and it could quite easily be imagined the many people to bowed to the man as he walked passed begging for his forgiveness for some sin they had committed.

As the boy stood there starring after his Father he decided that no matter what he would be the star of the Quidditch Pitch once at Hogwarts, he wanted to hear complimentary words fall upon him out of his Fathers mouth as when he did he was elated and felt like the best child a parent could wish for, he felt loved and cherished. So with that goal in mind he turned back towards the gardens and spent many hours of the following years practising his ability at flying.

The boy speeding around under the gleaming sun swirled away as a new memory interrupted. The same boy slightly older now and his face had thinned out somewhat, causing him to have pointed features. He stood on a stool in the main clothing store waiting for the shop owner to finish retrieving his size for some new robes ready for his first year in Hogwarts. He was extremely excited, eleven years he had been waiting for this, he would be truly able to cast magic, obviously he had performed some already at the manor but today he would receive his own wand and then at Hogwarts he would be taught magic of all kinds. Then there was also the Houses, of course he would be in Slytherin. He was rather terrified of what his Father would do if he was not placed within Slytherin; "our whole family as far back as records are available have all been placed within Slytherin" his Father had said. But Draco also knew that there had been some placed into other houses, his mother's cousin for instance had been a Gryffindor but he had been scorched out of the family tapestry.

The door to the shop opened and a boy that looked around the same age as him stepped in. This boy looked very scrawny, with messy black hair. His eyes, hidden by a pair of broken glasses, darted around the shop frantically. Draco was quite happy with the entrance of this timid boy, he had always wished for a friend maybe he and this boy could be could be best friends.

So the blond talks to the black haired boy and feels proud with how good he sounds, after all is that not how one receives friends? The rest of his trip goes by well but the highlight of his visit to Diagon Alley had definitely been the boy with the vibrant green eyes.

A few weeks later that same boy stood opposite him in the train compartment and when he asked friendship it was thrown back at him. He felt as if he had been punch in the stomach and slapped across the face simultaneously. His next breath was very hard to take in.

That had been the first time someone had refused him and rejected him and it had been painful. He hadn't realised how much he had hoped that this boy and he were to be friends and a part of him had smashed at the rejection. There was a space left empty within himself that needed to be occupied where the hope of friendship had vanished and the emotion that replaced it was anger. That had been the first time he had held out hi s hand as an offering of friendship and the last, he would not go through that pain again. How dare Harry Potter turn away such a willing friend as he?

Many images flashed past, most encounters with Potter during his years at Hogwarts. The time in the Forbidden Forest. The duel in second year. Many Quiddditch matches where the outcome was always Potter the winner. The embarrassment of being turned into a ferret and everyone laughing at him especially Potter. His Father, the man he aspired to be, being locked up in Azkaban due to Potter. Standing on and breaking Potter's nose on the train. Almost being killed by Potter. Deceiving his Aunt Bella about knowing if it was Potter at the manor. Being saved by Potter. Twice.

At the end of the war he was captured and taken into holding by the authorities. The trial held for him went on for longer than many others; he had not actually done anything criminal but had supported the Death Eaters. He had resigned himself to a sentence of Azkaban, it was not looking in his favours, many who had family members that went to Hogwarts with him were particularly harsh. It was a shock especially to him when he saw the same messy black hair he had seen eight years prior sitting in on his trial of the fourth day. It was with even greater surprise that the Saviour stood up and then actually defended him. Out of everyone he had targeted and attacked it had been Harry who had been the biggest victim. Yet here he was defending his long time school rival. And when the Saviour said something that was the way the court would sway, literally in this case.

Draco Malfoy was freed of all charges and released. He wished to thank the Chosen One and what he received in turn was askance to forget their petty childhood rivalry and move forward. He accepted a bit too eagerly for even his own liking. That was how Harry Potter, Dark Lord Defeater and Draco Malfoy, unwished for but nonetheless a Death Eater became friends.

When Harry held out his hand to him at the beginning there was a part of him that still yelled to refuse to shatter what had been shattered within himself. That was only a small part of his mind, the rest desperately wished to be friends with the black haired man in front of him, the same one that had rejected him as a boy.

Over several years they became very close. Draco and Weasley could only just tolerate one another but it became quite a common occurrence to see the blond with the Golden Trio. That is until Harry became seriously ill. Many blamed Draco but he did not care what others thought of him. He only wanted Harry better.

The Saviour spent numerous months unresponsive in St Mungo's. The Healers believed it was from an unknown long-term spell cast during the battle but they couldn't be sure. Draco scoured for hours upon hours searching for an antidote or at least a lead to one. If he was not in some library or another he was at Harry's bedside. Those months were the most traumatic of his whole life, including the time of the war. Harry had become to mean so much to him. Actually meant more than anything else.

If there was something that he regretted more than anything else is it was not telling Harry that he loved him. That was why Harry must get better so that he could say those three simple yet so difficult words. Harry had not had a single person say that to him and truly mean it. Many would say it to the hero, Harry Potter, but not one to Harry.

And that was why; ten months after Harry had been in a comatose state, that his world collapsed.

It was a cold, clear February day. The wind was bitter and cutting but Draco had gone past caring for his own needs several months ago. He was walking towards the hospital, the fresh air helped wake him up after a long night of researching into illnesses. He could tell there was something different as soon as he stepped into St Mungo's there was a scent of despair clinging to the air within. No one stopped him as he passed through the entrance, he had become a regular with these walls as much so as the decorations and Healers themselves. He headed straight up to Harry's private room on the fourth floor the same as he had uncountable times before. But before he could enter Harry's room he was stopped by Granger who supported blotchy red eyes, tear stained cheeks and a runny nose. His breathe caught.

"No" he whispered, not daring to speak any louder even if he had he would have been unable. "No" he croaked. He would not allow it to be true, it could not be true. But the answer he received was a Granger hurling herself bodily into him; he would have been knocked over had he not been in such a state of frozen shock. The time they stayed like this seemed everlasting, with Granger weeping onto his shoulder and Draco unable to do anything.

Eventually Granger tore herself away and went back into the door next to Potter's, probably to find Weasley. After a moment, Draco slowly approached Potter's door and opened it ajar. He crept; a mouse would likely have made more noise than him, slowly making his way towards the bed. Harry lay hardly any different to the recent months apart from his skin which was as pale as the white sheets cocooning him. A tear slide down his own pale cheek slowly tracking its way down and when it reached his chin it dangled precariously for several moments before falling, crashing to the ground with an almost inaudible sound. The rest of that day Draco spent curled up beside his love silently crying. If anyone came in they never said a word, or then Draco never heard.

For a long time after that Draco suffered from depression but Granger help him and even Weasley on the odd occasion.

Now, sixty-four years later, is the first time Draco is able to think about those memories without a tear unknowingly escape his eye just like the first. No, no tear but a slight smile curves the corners of his lips as he opens those lips, those lips that had once scorned his Harry, and whispers, "soon my love, soon we shall be together again." And true enough before the night is out Draco views the word he has lived in for ninety-five years for the last time.


End file.
